I am a brand loyalist – I loathe changing brands. I smoked Gold Flake Kings for eight years till I switched over to India Kings because I discovered a discrepancy both in the tobacco quality and the filter itself between the packs of 10s and 20s. I have puffed on the India Kings brand for the last 10 years. I stick to Old Monk when drinking rum and Black Label when guzzling beer. Unless the bar offers no other choice. I have worn Lees and Levis since I-don’t-remember-when. Latter-day brands have not been able to wrap me over.
Brand strategists could well look at me as an extreme case study, for all I care. But then I wonder why I am such a brand loyalist? It works, firstly, for me if the brand keeps me satisfied. Secondly, I might have no other choice which would be a better alternative. Lastly, it might be a question of compulsion. It is rarely a combination of all three.
It has been this rather singular combination that has kept me glued to Hutch/Vodafone from day one. When I got my cellular connection, Hutch and Airtel were the only two operators in the National Capital Region (NCR) area. My opting for the first was more by coincidence than by design. I stuck to Hutch because I rarely faced problems, its connectivity seemed marginally better than that of Airtel. And I was in no mood to change numbers which would probably create more problems for me. I abhor new hassles to take care of.
But for that one time when the roaming service failed to function in Kolkata, Hutch didn’t keep me swamped in problems. If there were any, a call to the customer care wing would take care of things faster than they would promise me with. Whichever few places I frequented, the signal would never fade away at any. There was no compelling reason why I should trash it either for Airtel or any other new kid in town.
Till, of course, Hutch was Hutch. My experience with Vodafone has been an exasperating study in contrasts.
Just the other day I had to call up the customer service some eight or ten times because not a single executive (till the last one) was able to help me with the configuration settings of the dial-up connection. I had formatted all three of my hard disks and had like a fool not jotted down the number one was supposed to dial. One exec simply disconnected me midway through since he wasn’t able to either comprehend the problem I was facing or didn’t know how to deal with it. Another girl asked me to visit the website and get all the details for myself. But how on earth am I supposed to visit your website when my connection itself doesn’t work? Oh, of course, she said and promised that I would get a callback. That, needless to say, didn’t happen.
One exec even went to the extent of teaching me how to set up a dial-up connection. Fair enough, assuming that not everyone is proficient in handling their PCs and configs and what-not. Next, he asked me to dial up my own number to get connected! I spoke to so many people with as many solutions that I might well be mixing the last two up and forgetting all the metaphors I can use for such occasions. Then there was another fella who asked me to dial up *123 something-something-something. The connection could not be established – no number was being dialled. Another told me to dial up *99***3#. This was the closest to the truth. For some reason the connection could not be established. I don’t remember the exact error message, though.
I called up Vodafone again – thankfully for the last time. This one time the exec clearly was conversant with what she was handling. She heard me through patiently and was explicit in her explanation. She informed me that the second last digit was a variable, and if for some reason the connection could not be established, all I needed to do was change that digit to anything between 1 and 6. I made the changes even while I was on the landline with her. She excused herself to ascertain whether there was some tech problem at the other side, and before she was back in less than a minute, the connection had been established. The Internet connection was working. Phew, phew, phew.
Presently, I received an SMS from Vodafone enquiring whether the person I had spoken to – Ayesha Tyagi – had been able to solve my problem. I hardly ever reply to such automated messages unless I am extremely satisfied or infuriatingly dissatisfied. This time I did in an affirmative and was subjected to a few more queries. The young lady was clear in her mind what was bugging me, she was friendly, and she was efficient. I gave her the full marks that she deserved for taking care of things.
Now, this raised more questions than answers. Why is it that the earlier ones were not able to solve my problem? Why is it that they provided me with such conflicting and mostly erroneous solutions? If they are so inept, what the blazes are they doing in the company in the first place? Shouldn’t they be chucked out? And, of course, why was it only the last time that I received an SMS from Vodafone asking me whether the issue I was facing had been resolved? Is that a candid admission that Vodafone and its happy-to-help customer care execs knew well that they hadn’t taken care of things earlier?
I would happily give 10 on 10 to the smart young lady, and a zero on ten to the company.
Vodafone, since Hutch was bought over, has had me seething for one reason or the other all the time.
I mostly make my payments nowadays through my cellphone itself – it usually works. Sometime back – could have been March or April of this year – for once it did not. The automated voice response informed me that the transaction could not be completed. My conjecture was that it was some momentary system glitch. Nevertheless, I promptly called up customer service. The man gave me the impression that the problem lay at my end. He even had a tailor-made solution – I should switch off my cell, take out the SIM card, insert it back, switch on the gadget, and try all over again! Of some help, this fella was. I gave him the royal ignore and simply repeated the procedure – it worked.
I am not in a position to know for sure, but has Vodafone replaced the relatively more efficient personnel of the Hutch days with a bunch of inefficient ones? Most you have to deal with are more-often-than-not downright dolts.
Nowadays, irrespective of the IVR language option that you choose they will speak to you in Hindi. Earlier, if you chose English they would speak to you in English; if you opted for Hindi, they would revert to you in Hindi. Now, it’s Hindi all the way. Some execs do switch over to English if you speak in the language, most don’t give a damn and carry on nonchalantly in Hindi. Is it just my bad luck?
I believe a personal touch works wonders in customer care. It helps in retaining clients, cements brand loyalty, and helps in image management. A couple of instances come to my mind here. Maybe a year or two, or even more, back, I had been to the Noida Sector 18 branch of Hutch. As I was about to step in, the lout of a security guard spat out the remnants of a paan. The discharge fell a few inches from my feet. He looked through me, my disgusted look not cutting ice with his couldn’t-care-less visage. I completed my work, made my disgust known in the visitors’ book, and left. Within the hour I received a call from the centre apologising for the misdemeanour of the guard, and apprising me of the measures that had been taken to bring the guard to task.
The staff at the same branch are now as callous as that boorish guard. Earlier when you went to drop in your cheque, the ones at the entrance would voluntarily take it from you and drop the same into the box by themselves. The last time when I visited the office to make my payment in April, there was no drop box. You had to stand in a queue to submit it to an exec seated at a counter taking forever to clear out each customer. With just one hurdle in front of me that day, the exec in question decided suddenly to have a tête-à-tête on his cell with heaven-knows-who. The exec, his tag identifying him as one Ayush, like the sarkari buffoons who squat at governmental counters, went on and on with the call which unquestionably wasn’t an official one. He clearly wasn’t willing to be very “happy to help” which a label on his neatly-ironed shirt said he should. I finally had to give vent to my displeasure. He didn’t disconnect the phone – merely took the envelope from me and carried on with a look that said that the fault lay squarely with me. This time I couldn’t find a visitors’ book through which I could make myself heard. None of the staff there apparently knew if one even existed. Apparently, of course.
Till Hutch was Hutch, if someone new in town asked for my opinion about a new connection, I would inadvertently say Hutch. Now I ask everyone to opt for Airtel. And, as things stand now, I will junk Vodafone once number portability ceases to be a myth. Loyalists sometimes need to junk some irksome brands.
